Sworn Brothers
by Peridot Tears
Summary: That was the day Japan stopped loving China.


_Disclaimer: Nah. Never. :3_

...

The day Yao wanted to become his sworn brother was the day Kiku stopped loving him.

To this day Kiku could not pluck out the reason—there were so many tangles about it, varying in hardness. Kiku liked to think rationally, but...

Why would the heart care? Or the mind? They were to keep him living, to make him feel—no more, no less. There was no reason to make it all better there—life was life.

Life was to tear the bird from the familial nest; it was to pierce the mother's breast with a splinter of what once was. It was to set out and nurture, itself or its own children—and in the end, to _lose. _Lose what, Kiku chided himself for not knowing. But he could see it. See it in Yao's eyes whenever the People's Republic of China turned them to him—he saw the eyes in layers, of history and the present. The way he treated Kiku like an equal now, only having periods of fraternity, if they could be so. But he never called him brother; not anymore.

Kiku would stand about sometimes then; take down his painting of the three brothers and sit somewhere, staring at the moon—working some stupid nonexistent charm.

The three brothers, he reflected, never betrayed each other—though in the end, their prayers had been snubbed, in the cruelest ways. And yet, why...?

That day was no longer clear, and much less the event. Still, the cold touch of air, from that time—it shook him still; he was surprised, always, to never see his breath turn white. The tiny details he saw: Yao, Yao's face, Yao's voice, and the fear...

"Japan," he had said, smiling; and Kiku had blinked, tightening the neck of his light kimono against the cold. Yao held a book in his hands, and it said simply, "San Guo Yan Yi." Kiku blinked at it—Sangoku?—was it not a period in China's history?

"You recognize it, don't you?" Yao said, pleased at the light in Japan's eyes. "I just found it yesterday—Luo Guanzhong just finished it. You know Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei, right?" He gazed at Japan expectantly; he nodded and Yao beamed.

"I can't believe I never thought of this before," he went on, "but we should become sworn brothers, just like them!" Again, that joyful look, so proud.

_...Ah, _Kiku thought first, _China-san._

But he did not trust it; he remembered very well the fate of the brothers, from every one of his studies by candlelight, when it was not China teaching him. Agreeing to this vow—it would be testing fate, and what a foolish thing to do.

And then...

"Chuugoku-san," he said, mentally snapping at himself, for he had not noticed earlier. "Were they not merely close as brothers?"—he refrained from adding that no such vow had been taken by the three; the point was already made.

"Ahhh," China sighed happily, though his forehead had an abrupt fold in it. He had known the three men, Kiku noted; he had fought with them. The crease disappeared quickly; however, when Yao spoke again, lightly, "Luo Guanzhong made that up, but they would have done that anyway, don't you think?"

He waited for a reply, and Kiku found himself nodding.

"So!" Yao's face lit up, brighter. "How about it?" His eyes sparkled with the hoarfrost about them; Japan, in response, merely tightened his kimono, only just catching a shudder.

The cold brought fear.

Guan Yu had died first—and what had he been...fifty-seven? Yao was much older than that. Guan Yu and his son; captured and executed in their loyalty.

Kiku was as good as Yao's son... The son. Guan Ping had already reached his thirties. Following behind Guan Yu, even to the end.

Dread filled his chest, squeezing tight. Zhang Fei next. Japan stared at Yao's shiny eyes, eager. Swallowing, he recalled. Zhang Fei—a great general but a cruel one; betrayed—_killed—_by his own men, and after he had garbed himself in white for Guan Yu's death.

The horror of it all!

Kiku shuddered; at this he saw Yao begin to frown, no doubt confused: Thinking that he needed to control his stimuli more, Japan let his hands shake instead, if only to ward off China's puzzlement.

China.

Yao.

With a sudden gasp he imagined the sparks of Yao's phoenix eyes losing color, fading; his head rolling off, a blade of silver having struck him there—

And the blood: In his arms was Yao's head, eyes closed, a stump...blood; the hardness of his skull, the softness of his cold cheeks, hair as of yet silk—as his aniki's life blood spilled all over the ground, still unbearably hot...

Japan bit his lip, telling himself quickly to get a grip; in desperation he shifted to Liu Bei.

"Ri Ben?" Yao asked, puzzled, but Kiku did not hear.

Liu Bei. Oldest of them all and last to die. Saying he perished would be too grand; at least _he _had had a deathbed; at least he had had his head intact. Died surrounded by living peers, doing what he could for the next generation; having seen the heads of his brothers, having to know that their pleas for a unanimous death had been swatted to the side... In the end, he'd left behind a weak boy, so that the kingdom had crumbled. The dying strategist he'd left for the boy could only do so much.

Would Yao ever die that way?—would Kiku himself die before Yao? Nations could fall, though he could never recall such a thing.

Japan shook his head then, quickly; looking up at his brother's face he said, quietly, "Forgive me..."

China's eyes widened at the slightest—he would turn this down?

Kiku nodded sadly before clearing his face of lingering emotion; with a bow he withdrew. "For your..." He faded when Yao twitched; he was not a delicate person—far from it—nor one prone to showing his hurt to others but...Japan, at the door, paused. "...I will think about it, Chuugoku-san."

China blinked, eyes brightened, pouted. "Well," he said cheerfully, but in a way unnerved, "If you will think about it..."

"Arigatoo gozaimasu," he replied, and dismissed himself, hand clutched about his kimono. It was still cold.

And presently, Kiku held a cup of tea in his hands, forgetting what had happened after. Just that he knew, Yao could not die—not his mentor, if not brother; the latter was accepted in clairvoyance only. The touch of cold chilled him now; after one sip of his green tea, his breath rattled in his chest.

He mused quietly then, setting his cup on the kotatsu; his home was quiet now, as always, if not disturbed by Pochi's claws, clicking in the halls. It was peaceful.

To this day, Kiku regarded Yao without love—how could he? Even without their molested history, he could not. It was as if Yao would die if he tried to be a brother: a silly notion, but a firm one.

Was Luo Guanzhong laughing at them from his grave?

China was not prone to falling, only crumbling; that was why it was old, he was old, and still alive.

Touching the surface of the green tea, Kiku whispered, "Chuu."

...Life without China. No matter what, that, to Kiku, was a strange and eerie world.

There is an end to all things...

...

_**PT: FUCK, two stories in a day. And both centered around the Three Kingdoms! ._. Yeah, the painting I mentioned is a Japanese one, of the three brothers, that Japanese businessmen hang in their offices today to show that they're trustworthy. Now, if you'll excuse me—I need to go to Kung Fu.**_


End file.
